


Nice Enough to Leave Scars

by MissNaya



Category: Batman: Arkham (Video Games), DCU
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Someone sends Dick recordings of Jason at his worst. With old wounds re-opened, he has to try and use unconventional methods to stitch them back up again.





	1. Back

**Author's Note:**

> so! this is a really intense fic. it centers heavily on the effects rape can have on a victim's sexuality. if that sounds like too much for you, I implore you to click away and keep yourself safe.
> 
> somewhat inspired by an anon on [my tumblr](https://dicktofen.tumblr.com/) who asked for a scene where Black Mask rapes Arkhamverse!Jason during his time in captivity. it's not exactly what the requester probably had in mind, but I hope it's satisfying nonetheless!
> 
> note: Jason is underage for the jayroman scene, but not for the jaydick scene.

Dick never should have opened the package. Worn manila envelopes with no return addresses on them almost always spelled bad news. He knew that, had known it for a long time, but that didn't stop him from dipping its contents into his palm: one scuffed USB drive.

One scuffed USB drive with a green smiley face painted on its dull purple surface.

Seeing it had been like staring at a ghost. Even without any solid proof, he knew who it was from immediately. _Leave it to Joker,_ he thought, _to find a way to screw with us long after he's dead._

He'd run the envelope and USB for prints, but by then there were too many layered on to get anything useful. Then he'd set the envelope aside for further tests, scanned the drive to make sure it was virus free, and made the worst decision he could possibly have made.

He put it into his computer and opened one of the files.

His monitor had nothing on the Batcomputer, but it still boasted one of the best displays money could buy. Even then, the video that opened started out dark and grainy, low-quality as if it had been recorded on VHS. A single flickering light bulb illuminated the room, something heavy dangling underneath it. It took a moment for Dick's eyes, and the camera, to adjust, but when they did, he felt his heart drop.

Jason. It was Jason.

His uniform was torn and caked in dirt, and his face was haggard and sunken-in, leaving him looking more like a corpse than a person. The Robin emblem on his chest no longer shone. But it was _him_ hanging there like a sack of sand, there was no doubt about it.

“ _Say hello, pretty bird,_ ” came the Joker's all-too-familiar voice. Dick wanted to say he'd nearly forgotten what it sounded like, but that would be a lie. Its sour-sweet lilt turned his stomach in knots even now.

Jason said nothing. Dick wondered if he was even conscious.

“ _Now now,_ ” Joker chided, “ _there's no need to be rude to our audience. Or do you need a little motivation?_ ”

Something about the way he said that last word made Jason stir in his bonds, feet just barely scraping the floor. He moved like he wanted to thrash, but all he could manage were a few tugs against the ropes around his wrists.

“ _Please,_ ” he said, voice smaller than Dick had ever heard it. “ _Please, no._ ”

“ _That's the spirit!_ ” Joker sounded so genuinely delighted by Jason's plea that it brought bile to the back of Dick's throat. “ _Now, what's say we play a game?”_

Joker rounded the camera and bent over to smile into it, adjusting his polka-dotted bow tie. He looked healthy, unaffected by the Titan virus that had taken his life. It hurt Dick to remember just how long he had Jason locked up down there.

Slicking back his hair, he backed up a few steps until most of his body was in frame. “ _This one's called 'Pick Your Poison!' Are you listening, boys and girls at home? Each round, our wonderful contestant, Robin, will get to choose between three wonderful toys. Whichever one he picks, we'll play with! Doesn't that sound like fun?_ ”

Joker leaned in and cupped a hand to his ear, as if listening for his imaginary audience's reaction. Behind him, Jason began to sob.

“ _Goodie goodie! Now, for round one, we have: the crowbar, the power drill, and the welding torch! What'll it be, Jason, ol' boy?_ ”

“ _Just lemme go,_ ” Jason said, voice cracked and broken. “ _Please don't do this. Please. Please just let me_ —”

Joker ticked and tocked with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, rocking back and forth to the tune. Speaking over Jason's begging, he sing-songed, “ _Five seconds left! Better hurry up and decide, or it's Joker's choice. Four, three, tw—_ ”

“ _Crowbar!_ ” Jason blurted out. Even in low-resolution, Dick could see his face twisted up, ugly and wrinkled and shut-eyed like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “ _Crowbar, oh_ god, _please...!_ ”

Jason trailed off into sobs, and Joker stalked away off-camera to go shuffle around some heavy-sounding objects. Dick heard one slow _scraaaape,_ and then, smiling widely, Joker came back into frame, aforementioned crowbar in his hands.

“ _Who didn't see_ that _one coming?_ ” he said with a wink toward the camera. Then, cackling his horrendous, maniacal laugh, he raised the bar above his head.

Dick shut his eyes.

* * *

 

He wished he could say he stopped there, but there were so _many_ clips loaded onto the USB. They played one right after the other, and Dick was transfixed.

No. No, that's not fair. He could've turned it off at any time. His stomach would've thanked him for it. But the truth was, he was curious. What had turned Jason into the man he was today? What changed a rough-around-the-edges, kindhearted kid into an army general hellbent on destroying the city? Even months after the Halloween incident, Jason had no qualms about killing. There was an anger in him, a hurt that ran deep, and god damn it, Dick was his brother. He felt, in that torturous moment, like he had to try and understand what Jason went through.

He wasn't ready for the next video, _006.avi,_ to start playing. Wasn't ready for the horrible truth it would reveal.

It started out like all the others. Jason, in the center of the room, tied up and exhausted. He looked more malnourished with every video, clothes sagging off his limp frame. Dick wondered how long he'd been there by that point, but the Joker, off-camera, answered for him.

“ _Happy six month anniversary!_ ” he crowed. “ _We all pitched in to get you something._ ”

Out of the shadows stepped more people, people Dick quickly recognized as Arkham inmates and other criminals. One by one, they each took turns pummeling Jason, venting their vigilante-related frustrations while Joker cheered them on. Jason, the poor thing, couldn't even begin to fight back, bound tightly to a chair that rocked whenever he was hit. After a particularly hard “leap year punch” from Calendar Man, it looked like he would actually fall over this time. Dick's stomach lurched just from the sight of it, but before Jason could crash down, a hand caught the back of the chair.

Dick recognized the owner of it immediately: Black Mask. Roman Sionis, dressed sharp in a white tuxedo, like he'd thrown on something special for the occasion. He righted Jason, waving off boos from the crowd.

“ _Alright, alright,_ ” he said. “ _My turn. I wanna give little Robin here a special present._ ”

He pulled a pocket knife out of his suit, flicking it open. A few people spoke up when he began cutting through Jason's ropes, but he paid them little mind.

“ _Does he look like he's in any condition to fight back? Don't be pansies,_ ” he said.

And then, when Jason's limp form slumped into his arms, he lowered him to the floor.

“ _Boy Wonder, huh?_ ” he said, straightening up and undoing his cufflinks. Slowly but efficiently, he rid himself of his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of the empty wooden chair. “ _What's say we fix that right up? Gonna make you a_ man _today, kiddo. ...Eh. Maybe more of a woman._ ”

Dick's brow scrunched up. Even Jason seemed to take notice of that, attempting to pull his arms up under him to push off of the floor. Roman didn't even bother to stop him. He was too busy pulling his belt out of its loops.

Oh, no. No, no, _no._

“ _Beatings are fun and all, but you, Robin? You deserve a little creativity,_ ” he said, kneeling down. He hooked his fingers through Jason's waistband — an easy feat with how loose his pants were by then — and tugged him back. Jason's chin hit the concrete with a dull _thwap._ “ _You ever get outta here, you tell your boss what happened. You tell Batman this is because of him, okay? Let him know what happens to his stuff when he messes with me._ ”

Jason seemed to find a renewed sense of vigor when Roman began to yank his pants down. He struggled, grabbing at them with weak, shaky hands. “ _No, no,_ ” he muttered, indignant, but it was an easy task for Roman to pull them free of his grasp. They, and his underthings, all came down at once.

Jason was scarred. Bruised. It was easy to see even with the low quality. Dick didn't know how anyone could look at Jason's flesh, sickly pale where it wasn't covered in marks, and get aroused, but Roman somehow managed, pulling out his already-hard cock.

As if his appearance wasn't enough, Jason began to put up as much of a fight as he could manage. He slapped at Roman's hands, tried to pull his clothes back on, and scrabbled at the concrete in a vain attempt to crawl away. Around him, the crowd muttered, hooted, and laughed, Joker in particular squealing about what a _fun_ idea it was. Not a single person tried to help him. Nobody even expressed disdain. Dick knew they were all terrible people, but for whatever reason, he still expected more from some of them.

With one hand, Roman pulled Jason back by the arm. With the other, he worked a good amount of spit over his cock. It still wouldn't be enough. Dick wanted to shout it at the screen, to throw escrima sticks and wing-dings at everyone until they backed off, but all he could do was stand there at his computer and watch.

Jason summoned up what must have been an impossible amount of energy to shout “ _NO!_ ” at the top of his lungs, but it fell on deaf ears. His head slumped back down onto the ground, concrete pressing into his cheek. His face was turned right toward the camera. He started to sob some more, and Dick wanted to vomit.

“ _There you go,_ ” Roman was cooing, dragging his cock up and down between Jason's cheeks. “ _There you go._ ”

And then he pushed in.

 


	2. Forward

Dick doesn't know how long _006.avi_ has been playing. It seems like it's been going on forever, just this one “scene,” with Black Mask holding down Jason's arms and rocking his hips while Jason cries and pleads and screams. Dick's hand, pressed tightly against his own mouth, is trembling almost as hard as it looks like Jason is.

And then he hears behind him, too loud and too close, “What the hell is this?”

Dick whips around and meets eyes as wide and blue as his own. Standing not five feet from him is Jason, clenching his helmet so hard his knuckles must be white under his gloves, teeth bared like some sort of defensive wild animal. The window is open behind him, the window Dick swore had been properly armed, but since when had that ever deterred Jason?

He thinks a million things all at once, like _why are you here_ and _what did I do_ and _how much have you seen,_ overlapping in an ugly cacophony that rolls in his inner ears and makes him feel like the world is swaying around him. And if this is how _he_ feels, he can only imagine what Jason is thinking, staring through him while the sounds of his own torment crackle out of the speakers.

“I—” he starts, but it's all he can do to gape like a fish out of water for a moment. “Jason, I— I can—”

“What the _hell_ is this?” Jason repeats, storming forward. Dick tries to stop him when he goes for the computer, to hold him back, like he might spare him from re-living his trauma. But Jason just shoves him off, drops his helmet, and grips the desk with shaking fingers. “Where the hell did you get this? What is this? Huh? How long have you been _watching_ this?!”

“I'm sorry,” Dick says, because it's easier than telling him the truth. “I don't know who sent it. I shouldn't have—”

“You're damn right, you shouldn't have!” Jason fumbles with the USB until he can get a good enough grip on it to yank it out. The video stills, and then the screen goes black. “You— You, _you—_ I c-can't— I thought I, he—”

Jason's voice hitches, breathless, and Dick hates that he recognizes it as the way he would sound on the tapes before launching into a panic attack. He reaches for his shoulder, but gets smacked away so hard his wrist bends back.

“Don't touch me! Don't,” Jason says, wrapping his arms around himself for a brief moment. He sucks in a shaky breath, then pockets the USB and runs his hands through his hair. “Don't you say a damn word. You forget what you saw, you hear me?”

“Jason—”

“Don't!” There's a fire in his eyes, but behind it, Dick sees something wet and fragile threatening to spill out. He hears it in Jason's voice, too. “Don't _look_ at me like that. I don't need your pity.”

Dick opens his mouth, closes it, and looks away. “I wasn't—”

“I don't wanna hear it.” Jason turns on a heavy heel and stalks back toward the window, reason for his visit long forgotten. “I mean it, Grayson. Forget you ever saw any of that.”

And then, like the video before him, he's there one moment and gone the next.

* * *

 

Dick debates for a long time whether or not to go after him. Part of him thinks Jason needs time alone, time to process his emotions, but the other part remembers all too clearly what happened the last time he tried to “process” something. A person who tries to regain control of his life by turning a city into a fear-gas-covered wasteland is probably not familiar with healthy coping mechanisms.

And Dick knows he's probably the last person Jason wants to see right now, just short of Black Mask himself, but god damn it, he's _worried._ Whatever state Jason's in right now, be it angry or distraught or homicidal, it's Dick's fault, so it's his responsibility to ensure Jason doesn't do anything too terrible to himself or anyone else.

That's the rationale that has him standing outside of Jason's safe house hours later, cloaked in the shadows of a moonless night. He knows this is the one, because Jason's prized motorcycle is slumped haphazardly against the building. He'd never treat his bike that way any other time, would never leave it sitting right in front of his safe house. He's being careless. All the more reason to check up on him.

The curtains are only open a sliver, but through them, Dick can see the dull bluish light of some sort of screen illuminating an otherwise dark room. He crouches down a bit to get a better angle, and there he sees Jason hunched on his bed with a laptop open in front of him.

On it, the video is playing. _The_ video.

Dick's heart sinks. Why? Why is he _watching_ that? He had figured the first thing Jason would do would be to crush the USB and then set fire to the pieces. At most, he could understand looking through the files for anything of note, a clue or a message or something like that, but to watch _that_ video? Dick can't wrap his head around it.

Jason must have been too out of it to switch on his security system, which is for the best, because Dick isn't thinking straight, and moves to open up the window without deactivating anything. His mind is completely overcome with two parts regret and one part confusion, and he slips soundlessly inside, brow furrowed.

The words, “What are you doing?” come out before he can think better of it. Jason jumps and slams the laptop shut, turning around to fix Dick with that same cornered animal stare.

For the better part of a minute, neither of them say anything. Jason's chest heaves up and down with fast, heavy breaths. Dick searches his face for some kind of a clue as to what he's feeling, but surprise melts into an accusatory glare before he can puzzle anything out.

“Jason,” Dick says on the tail end of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His expression softens, likely too close to the pity Jason had been trying to avoid. “Jay, why are you doing this to yourself?”

Jason's nostrils flare, and by the way his shoulders tense up, Dick knows he's said the wrong thing. “To myself? _You_ did this to me when you watched that fucking video. _He_ did this to me wh-when—”

His words die on the edge of a snarl. Dick tries to speak, but Jason sucks in a loud breath and holds up his hand.

“You need to get rid of any delusions you have of helping me,” he says, steadier now. “What you have to offer, it won't do anything for someone like me. Okay? There's nothing you can do, so don't even try.”

Whether it's true or not, it hurts. Dick takes a cautious step forward, arms spread and palms open. Were it anyone else, he'd try for a hug, but he's smart enough to know that that won't soothe Jason. Still, he wants Jason to know he's not a threat.

“That's not true,” he says. “No one's beyond help. _No one._ Not even you.”

“Yeah?” Jason scoffs, nodding his head in a false show of agreement. “Not even Joker? Not even _Black Mask?_ ”

When Dick's face goes blank and his arms slump, Jason knows he's won. Dick can see the validation wash over him (but, he notes, it weighs him down, dragging his shoulders and the edges of his mouth down with it). He sneers and moves to open the laptop back up.

“That's what I thought. Just go,” he says.

“Jason,” Dick says, because it's all he can think of in the moment. He closes the distance between them and lays a hand on Jason's wrist, halting him when the laptop's only half-unfolded. “Don't.”

Jason pulls his arm back as quick as a slap to the face. “You don't get to tell me that. You _don't_ get to tell me that!”

“It's not healthy to—”

“Oh, is it?” Jason's shouting now, sitting up on his knees, shoulders squared. “So you know what's best for me, huh? Is that it?”

Dick takes a steadying breath and shuts his eyes. “I didn't— That's not what I meant.”

“You wanna help me, Dick?” Jason asks, a challenge in his voice. He grabs Dick's arm to tug him until his knees are flush against the bed, but even after that, Jason keeps pulling, like he wants to yank his arm off. “You really wanna help with this shit?”

“Yes, Jason.” Dick, opening his eyes again, hopes he sounds as sincere as he feels. “Of course. I'd do anything.”

Another silence falls over them. This one only lasts half as long, but it's twice as heavy, descending like smoke, sticking to his throat and his lungs. Something in Jason's expression changes — eyes half-lidded, brow set — but before Dick can identify the look, Jason pulls him by the back of the neck and presses their mouths together.

Dick's so startled that Jason literally steals the breath from him, sucking down his exhale. Another hand comes up to cup his face, and then Jason deepens the kiss, licking into Dick's slack mouth. Transfixed, he lets Jason tug him back onto the bed, but as soon as his hands settle down onto the mattress, Dick rears back.

“Jason,” he breathes, “what—”

“You said anything.” Jason tugs him the rest of the way onto the bed via a leg hooked around his waist, and, settled against his crotch, Dick can feel him hardening through his pants. “Kiss me.”

“I don't understand,” Dick gapes. He feels disconnected from the situation, like he missed the transition that made this all make sense.

“I'm not asking you to understand,” says Jason, unhelpfully. “I'm asking you to kiss me.”

Dick licks his lips, Jason's taste still lingering there. He detects neither cigarettes nor alcohol, so for whatever reason, Jason's doing this sober. If anything, that only confuses him more.

He opens his mouth to ask again, but something tells him pressing for an answer will only leave him with the opposite. So, trying to tamp down on his own feelings, he leans down and kisses Jason again.

Jason lights up immediately, wrapping his arms around Dick's shoulders and pulling him close. Dick never imagined he'd be like this, so affectionate, so _open._ He wonders if this stems from a crush, or if Jason would've latched onto anyone else the same way. Maybe he needs someone to get the taste of bile out of his throat after watching that video.

It makes sense, but it feels wrong. Dick not only feels like he has no right to Jason's body, but that, by going along with this, he's somehow making things worse. He's read extensive papers on the trauma that often results from rape, how children especially tend to go on to compensate for their experiences by leading promiscuous sexual lives, but he never in all his years imagined he'd end up so close to a situation like that.

Or maybe he's completely wrong. Maybe Jason likes him, and wants to replace a foul memory with a pleasant one. It's not like the kid ever learned how to express emotions properly, not growing up with abusive parents and then Bruce, the king of emotional dishonesty. Maybe this is the first time he's been so close to someone since the incident.

Whatever the case, Dick gains nothing from dwelling on it right now. Not with Jason almost _hungry_ beneath him, exploring his mouth with a greedy tongue, holding him in place with legs that are stronger than they have any right to be. Dick thinks it's just Jason's hips rocking at first, but then he realizes he's complicit, grinding down into him with every thrust. God help him, he's turned on.

One particularly harsh thrust has Jason tilting his head back with a sigh, showing off his neck in a way that has to be purposeful. In the low light, Dick can't make much out, save for a particularly big raised white scar near his throat. He presses his lips to it instinctively. When that doesn't seem to turn Jason off — seems to make him even more frantic, as a matter of fact — Dick kisses a wet trail up to his ear and breathes into it huskily.

“Let me know if I need to stop,” he says. “Whenever— No matter what, just tell me and I'll—”

“Shut up.” Jason sounds almost angry, and when he pulls Dick back into a kiss, his fingernails dig into the soft spot of his jaw. He pulls away only enough to whisper, “Fuck me.”

Jesus Christ. Dick feels his heart skip a beat, unprepared to hear something so blunt. While his body begs him to acquiesce, his brain gives him pause. This doesn't seem right. The way Jason tensed up all over again when Dick talked about something as simple as consent, as a way out, that doesn't bode well at all. If Jason is trying to push himself through something he's not ready for, he can't be complicit, he won't hurt him more—

But then Jason pulls him down for another kiss, and rolls his hips just so, and Dick loses himself to sensation again.

It's heady, lying in someone else's bed. Dick has always been a very tactile person, the sort who communicates best through touch. Jason's desire for closeness, misguided or not, doesn't escape his notice. It has his whole body on alert, ready to give in, desperate to feel all the things he can't say out loud. And adding sex to all of it only makes him more vulnerable, easier for Jason to mold in his hands like putty. It's hard to see past the haze of lust that's descended over him.

He decides to give this a chance. They shift on the bed, wiggling around until they're lying in it vertically. Jason shoves the laptop out from under his back to give them more room. Dick kisses him with everything he has, the both of them cutting through the silence with muffled noises and gasping breaths, and Dick brings a hand up to cup Jason's cheek.

It's the cheek with the brand. His thumb rests at the top of the J, and he doesn't miss how Jason tenses up again at the touch. He's about to pull away when Jason does it for him, untangling their legs and turning over in the bed. Jason, flat on his stomach now, takes Dick by the wrist, guiding his hand instead to his hip. To his waistband.

Stomach sinking, Dick realizes what Jason wants him to do.

“No,” he says, trying to move his hand away, but Jason holds firm. He has to shift to keep balance when Jason goes for his other wrist, pulls that hand to his hip as well, and then he's kneeling over him, their positions practically a mirror image of what was on the tape. “No, Jason, I— I can't—”

He expects anger, indignation, but what he gets instead is a breathy plea. “ _Do it._ Do it, Dick, right now.”

“Jay,” Dick says, leaning forward to rest his forehead between Jason's shoulder blades. He feels weak all of a sudden. “You don't really want this. You— you don't have to want this—”

“But I do!”

It's so loud that Dick actually jumps a little. He feels more than hears the next breath Jason takes, and more than that, he feels the way it comes out in the form of a few little sobs that he tries to hide.

“I do. Okay? I do. I want it,” he says, tight like he's saying it through clenched teeth. “I'm _fucked up_ and I _want it,_ so just do it or _get. Out._ ”

His heart breaks when he hears Jason sniff sharply, clearly trying to hold back more sobs. And he doesn't know if Jason wants it because he doesn't know how else to want something like this, or if he wants it to feel like he has control over a situation where he didn't before, but in that moment, Dick knows two things: one, that Jason is telling the truth. And two, that it isn't his place to try and figure out anything past that.

He doesn't sit up. Doesn't move, except to yank Jason's pants down with a few rough, sharp tugs. He feels Jason's nails scrape over the backs of his hands even through his gloves, but he lets him do it, a shudder bolting up his spine.

Dick kisses Jason's shoulder blade, then his neck where he can press skin against skin. Jason remains tense, but lifts his hips a bit by way of what Dick has to assume is permission.

“Lube?” he asks, feeling filthy for it.

He feels even filthier when Jason says, “Don't need it.”

“Jay—”

A huff kills his arguments on his tongue.

_If this is what he wants,_ Dick thinks, _then how can I argue?_

(He knows that he can. That he probably should. But with Jason so weak and open and _trusting_ beneath him, he can't bring himself to walk away.)

“...Say 'blue,'” Dick says, “and I'll stop.”

Jason sounds like he's going to say something again, a protest maybe, but Dick cuts him off by grabbing him by the hips and tugging him a few inches lower. Every piece of his body is screaming at him not to play this risky game, because Jason doesn't seem like he has any interest in a safe word, but Dick, desperate for more of that closeness, that emotional connection, twists those worries up and stomps them down into a dark, quiet place.

Jason's skin is tanner now, healthier, save for the crisscross of faint scars marring it up. Dick pries apart his cheeks, studying him, trying to think of this as something better than what it is. He imagines Jason shaking because he wants Dick and Dick alone, imagines that the saliva he spreads over his fingers is proper lubricant. When he presses them in, it's harder to pretend that Jason's whimpers are from pleasure instead of pain, until he mutters, “More. Faster,” into the pillows.

It's too much, too fast, but Dick complies until he's three fingers deep. Jason definitely sounds like he's crying now, but between his legs, his cock swings impossibly hard. Dick tries not to judge him for it. Tries not to judge himself for liking it.

He tries to keep going with his fingers for as long as possible, spitting on them whenever his saliva starts to dry, but Jason grabs at his forearm and tries to tug him away. At first, he thinks it's part of their dynamic, that Jason is channeling himself back when he was too weak to fight properly, but then the tugging becomes more insistent, and Jason says, “Come _on,_ ” and Dick can't pretend any longer.

He pulls his fingers out and undoes the near-invisible catches on his uniform to free his straining cock. He hates that he's still hard despite everything, hates that having Jason Todd squirming underneath him makes his heart beat faster and his blood rush south. It feels vulgar when he slicks himself up, but, when he presses the tip to Jason's hole, it's impossibly, astonishingly hot.

With his thumb on the head of his cock, he slowly pushes inside, watching himself disappear bit by bit inside of Jason. His other thumb traces soothing little circles into Jason's skin.

It's terrible to say, terrible to even _think,_ so Dick hopes against hope when he opens his mouth that it's the right thing to do.

“There you go,” he breathes. “There you go.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Jason opens up, and Dick slides in to the hilt without meeting any resistance. Jason tightens right back up as soon as he's in, but for that one brief moment, everything is bliss. He gapes, breath coming out in a short staccato. The position has Jason's shirt riding up, so Dick pushes it until he can see the broad canvas of his back, with all its scars and marks. The dim light makes it impossible for him to see every detail, so he trails his palm up and down over every inch of skin he can reach.

“Shh, Jason,” he whispers, even though he's the one making the most noise. He feels clammy, sweat dripping down his brow and off the tip of his nose. Jason's hands, clenched into fists in the sheets, tighten even more when a drop hits the small of his back. “I've got you. I've got you.”

“Move,” Jason says abruptly, pleading, shaking. He rocks back, though Dick can feel his legs trembling. “ _Move,_ Dick.”

He does. He grips Jason's hips like he saw in the video, then begins to thrust in and out, slow at first, but faster every time he feels Jason twitch around him. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the air, as wet as the groans Jason sobs out.

“ _Oh,_ stop,” he says, but it sounds like he wants Dick to do anything but. “Stop it. Please...! No, no, no, _no..._ ”

Dick can't suppress the moan that tears its way up out of his throat. He feels like the worst person in the world for enjoying this, even if he knows Jason doesn't mean the things he says. He speeds up more, wishing both to finish this faster and for it to never end.

“Please! No— Don't— Don't, don't...” Jason says, and then it's as if something inside of him breaks. He goes limp everywhere except for those hands tangled in the bedsheets, insides throbbing while Dick takes him. “... _stop._ Don't stop, _please,_ Dick, _ungh,_ don't stop, I'm, I'm so, oh my god, oh my god oh my god—”

Hearing his own name destroys the last of Dick's resolve. Something about knowing that it's _him_ Jason is thinking about, if only in this moment, gives him the push he needs to let go. He fucks Jason as hard and as fast as he can manage, and even the friction from too-little lube feels good now, has his eyes rolling up into the back of his head. Beneath him, Jason continues to blabber, until the strength of his orgasm turns his words into an incoherent mess.

Dick holds onto Jason's hips so tight he leaves marks, breath leaving him in one long, low moan as he comes. Jason twitches and shudders around him, drawing out his orgasm well past what he thought he could take, until the pair of them are little more than a couple of panting, sweat-drenched messes.

They sink onto the mattress together, Dick clinging to Jason even after he pulls out. He peppers Jason's neck and shoulder with kisses, chaste but lingering, feeling the way he shudders after almost every one. He doesn't know whether or not this will help Jason in the long run. He just knows that, for now, Jason slips into a sleep deeper than Dick would imagine he would've managed on his own.

Maybe that's the best he can hope for.

 


End file.
